Astoreth does Ferelden Part 9: Orzammar
by Natmonkey
Summary: Follow Astoreth as she traipses through Ferelden and shares her thoughts and wonders. In this instalment: our heroine and her friends try to restore order to the dwarves of Orzammar.
1. Sooo Tired

_Sooo... Welcome to part 9. This crazy story only gets crazier here, but I trust you will forgive any insanity on my part. If not, then not. I shall just have to cry myself to sleep then. _

* * *

"Ugh, I'm so tired," I whine. My feet hurt, my back is sore, my ankles are huge, my breasts swollen, sore and heavy. My bodice doesn't fit anymore, so I had to put on one of my new brassieres. It's almost too supportive. Neither do my robes close; I have to keep the buttons over my belly open and cover the gap with the pretty red scarf I have. I look mad stylish. But damn, this pregnancy is making me sluggish. Not that I have ever been very quick; I was the entire reason it took Duncan and I so long to travel to Ostagar. At first the man urged me to pick up the pace, but eventually he just gave up on me. I am a slowpoke.

Stubbs bumps his head against my hip and whines. Poor thing must be getting sick of all this walking too. Suddenly I see the ground from an entirely different angle, stone pressed against my stomach. Not very comfortable, but it alleviates the aching in my feet. "Maker's mercy, Shale! What are you doing?"

"I will happily carry it if that will free us of its whining," the golem chuckles. "Maybe if it didn't eat so much, it wouldn't be this fat and out of shape." My mabari bounces around us, barking cheerfully. Can't he see my honour is at stake here? Mmm, steak. A big, juicy steak. Still pink in the middle. Lots of gravy, roast potatoes. Yeah. Oh, Shale called me fat. Right.

"_Fat_?" The nerve! "I am _not_ fat, you animated pile of rocks. I'm with child!"

Shale shudders. "With child? So there is _another_ mage on the way? Oh, how marvellous." Its voice is almost dripping with sarcasm. Damn it Wilhelm, you ruined it for all of us!

"What makes you think it will be a mage?" I have to admit that this beats walking, even if I'm rested against something hard and uncomfortable.

"It and the male mage are very close, yes?" Shale nods thoughtfully. "It must have fathered the child."

"Hey!" Jowan protests weakly. "I most certainly did no such thing."

Alistair chuckles in delight. "Yay! At least I'm off the hook."

I look up to find my friend giving the Warden the dirtiest look ever known to man. Alistair clutches his heart and flops onto the ground, dramatically feigning a losing battle with death. After one last ghastly gurgle, he lies perfectly still. Jowan nudges him in the side with his foot. No reaction. "So looks _can_ kill," he says dryly.

Alistair clutches his foot all of a sudden and gives it a sharp yank, making my unfortunate friend collapse onto him with a startled yelp. Although, unfortunate... Mmm, I can just imagine those two ripping the clothes off one another, exposing more and more bare flesh. The Warden covering Jowan's wiry frame with his own beautifully muscular body. Hungry kisses, hands grasping eagerly enough to bruise... Oh my.

"What is it moaning about?" Shale asks curiously, snapping me out of my reverie.

Alistair immediately jumps to his feet, by my side in an instant. He lays his hand on my forehead. "Are you all right? You're burning hot. Hand her over, Shale."

"Very well," the golem says dryly. Effortlessly it grabs me by the collar and dumps me in the handsome young man's arms.

"Don't you worry, little Warden. You're safe with me," he coos.

In the meantime Jowan has joined us as well. "Is it the baby?" he asks in worry, his hand petting my belly.

"No, I suppose I just have a little fever." I snuggle up to Alistair's chest and wink at Jowan. Who smiles knowingly and backs off. I swear, nobody knows me better than he does. But I doubt he knows about my fantasies of him doing unspeakable things with my sexy colleague.

Said colleague softly kisses my cheek. "I'll take good care of you." That smile could just about blind a person.

"You'd have to take your pants off for that," I mumble.

"I'm sorry, what?" Alistair asks, his tone so neutral he could not possibly have heard a word I said.

I close my eyes, conjuring more images of the two men, and smile innocently. "Oh, nothing." Behind me I hear my friend snickering. _He_ heard.

* * *

Poor Alistair. He carried me around for several hours, but eventually he complained of his arms and back aching and had to let me go. For a while Sten took over carrying-the-whiny-pregnant-woman-duty, but eventually had me walk on my own. Wardens should not be pampered like spoiled royalty, he said. How very mean.

So, determined to make it up to my colleague (Sten I will simply get some cookies when we come across a bakery), I crawled into his tent with a vial of oil. Not the lemon one; who knows what will happen when Jowan gets a whiff of that? Hmm, maybe he would mistake Alistair for Lily too... Interesting. Anyway, the lad is going to get a massage whether he wants it or not.

"Astoreth? What are you doing in here?" he asks sleepily when he notices my presence. He winces trying to get up. "Ow, my back."

"I wanted to thank you for carrying me today." I move to sit beside his warm body.

Alistair smiles and pulls the covers over his head. "You're welcome. Goodnight."

"And I wanted to give you a massage, you know, to relieve the pain." And to shamelessly touch you, of course.

The Warden's handsome face peeps out from under his blanket. He looks a bit taken aback, eyebrows knotted together in confusion. But then a tentative smile breaks through. "I'm not going to say no to a nice massage," he says shyly.

"Good. Then turn over." I lay the covers to the side and straddle his midsection when he obediently does as I say. With my hands coated in oil and making sure it doesn't feel cold, I slowly begin kneading the back of his neck. "Boy, you're tense." My hands move down to his shoulders to work out all the knots in his powerful muscles. Under my kneading touch the tenseness slowly turns unto the characteristic firmness I love so well. Hard, but not unyielding.

It's been a while since the last time I spent a night cuddled up to him, my head resting against those firm muscles. Like a comfortable pillow. I know I'm going to take my time with this. Hours, preferably. The soft moans that my colleague utters send pangs of lust into my underbelly. "Am I hurting you?"

"No," he pants. "It's really, really nice. You're _good_." How sweet. And I haven't even bedded him yet. His moaning becomes louder as I move my kneading motions lower, onto the small of his back. The area feels strained, ridiculously so. Poor thing; I'm never going to let him carry me again. Inwardly I can't help but giggle. If the others hear the sounds Alistair is making, they are going to assume we are doing some naughty things in here. And although I certainly wouldn't mind it being true, I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea. The poor thing's name would get dragged through the mud. Sadly I'm done here. With this part, that is.


	2. Manly Muscle

_Who doesn't love a good massage, amirite? Especially if that involves a sexy guy, rawr. _

* * *

"I'm going to do your arms too, but you'll have to turn over. Okay?" I get off him.

He makes a hesitant sound. "Uhm, no, that's all right. Thank you." His voice sounds very embarrassed. Why...? _Oh_.

"I insist. Pretty please?" I squeeze his cheek as if he's a little boy. In some ways he seems like one.

"Oh, all right," he gives in. His face is flushed as he positions himself onto his back. The redness creeps all the way down his neck when I straddle his waist, my bum resting on a particularly rigid object. Now, I know I could verbally tease him about it, but instead I'm going to be a real bitch and tease him another way. Face trained into an innocent look, I wriggle to get more comfortable. A tiny whimper escapes my poor victim's throat. Ah, virgins.

I grab the vial of oil, leaning deeper into his crotch. Again he vocalizes his discomfort. Now I'm just being mean; if I go on like this much longer, the poor thing's head is going to explode. Enough teasing for now. With the supply of oil on my hands replenished, I grip his left arm to massage it. I start at the wrist, digging my thumbs into his flesh in circular motions. Daniela taught me how to give a proper massage; unfortunately I never got the chance to give Cullen one.

Well, that's it. I'm done; I rubbed his arms and back as well as I could. "There you go. Goodnight." When I move away, a strong hand closes around my wrist.

"Wait," he whispers hoarsely. "You're not done yet."

I blink a few times. "Say what?" Well, this sudden initiative is very... exciting.

"I've got a cramp in my chest." His face contorts into an expression of pain. Either he's become a very good actor overnight, or it's real. "Please help me."

"Of course, of course," I shush him. I apply another coat of oil to my hands and lay them on his chest. His heartbeat is rapid, his skin searing hot to the touch. Judging from his pulsating erection under my behind, he must feel the same way I do. Really fucking horny. My hands automatically go through the kneading and squeezing. This wonderful creature is incredibly firm, beautiful. And so _fuckable_.

Alistair's eyes are half-closed, low moans coming from between his parted lips. He takes in a sharp breath as my hands brush his nipples. Huh. I had no idea they were sensitive on men too. This will go into my collection of mental notes. All uncovered parts of his skin are slick and shiny with oil at the end of my treatment. I could just stare at that for hours.

"Better?" I rest my hand on his heart. His pulse is slow now.

My sexy companion folds his hands behind his head, puffing out his chest. As if the thing's not broad enough already. "Yes. I feel so... relaxed," he drawls. "Thank you." His eyelids flutter, then fall shut.

"You're welcome. Goodnight." I bend down to kiss the corner of his mouth, but receive no answer. My massage has been very effective; sweet little Alistair is sleeping. I slide back a little to lay my hand upon his erection and squeeze it. So hard. Curse my conscience! If I didn't have it, I'd be on his pole right now, sleeping virgin or not. Ah well.

I nearly bump into Zevran as I exit the tent. From the grin on his face I can tell some lovely suggestive comments will be coming my way. "What, pray tell, were you doing in there with your fellow Warden?" He winks.

"That's none of your business, Zev." I know that will only make it worse, but it _isn't_ his business.

The elf folds his arms before his chest and chuckles. "Perhaps I should go in and ask him myself then?"

"Don't bother; he's sleeping." Oh, snap. What do men often do after the act? Sleep. I feel the strong urge to slap my palm against my forehead.

Zevran utters a hearty laugh. "So, Jowan _and_ Alistair? You little minx." His lips curve into a satisfied smirk upon seeing my blank look. "I am on to you, you know."

Oops, time to change the subject. "All right, fine. I was giving Alistair a massage."

"Oh, a massage?" the elf purrs, wrapping an arm around my waist to draw me closer to him. "I would fancy one as well. Perhaps with a happy ending."

"A happy ending?" I frown. "What does that mean?" Maker's breath! His body is so warm, his scent so inviting. First a handsome warrior moaning under my touch, now a pretty elf trying to seduce me. Happy day; I feel so popular. All I need now is a steamy bathing scene with another woman and all will be complete. Though I did have one with Morrigan a long time ago, I don't know if it's steamy enough. Still, I think I would have to be quite desperate or drunk before I jump into Zev's bedroll. He's too easy and that is no fun.

His eyebrows raise quizzically. "You have no idea what a happy ending is? Then allow me to enlighten you..." His lips touch my ear with every whispered word he speaks. The explanation of the term nearly melts my skin away; such a sexy idea. So, a massage followed by a manually induced orgasm for the recipient. Mmm. If I could give Alistair one, I would be a happy little bunny. "How about it, Warden?" the elf finishes my enlightenment. "Poor Zevran could use some love right now."

So could I, and yay for me, I luckily already have someone who provides me with that. "I'm sorry, my friend, I'm afraid it will only be you and your hand tonight." I quickly scramble from his grasp, no doubt leaving behind a very frustrated assassin. Astoreth, you _bitch_.

* * *

"You really like him, don't you?" Jowan asks as I'm nestled safely in his arms after another spectacular round of lovemaking.

"Hmm? If you mean your penis, then yes. Very much." I briefly play with the now limp little worm.

He laughs. "I'm not talking about that. I heard some interesting sounds coming from a certain Warden's tent."

"Alistair's moaning? Yeah, I was giving him a massage." I cough. "Because, you know, he was in pain from carrying me for so long."

Jowan runs a hand through my hair. "And because you wanted to feel some _manly muscle_ under your hands, I bet." He chuckles. "So, a massage, huh? When am I going to get one of those?"

"Why would you want a massage if you can have me instead?" I place his one hand on my breast, the other on my bum. "It's equally relaxing and so much more fun for all involved."

"True enough." My friend smiles and softly kisses my lips. "You never answered my question though."

Question? "_Oh_. Of course I do. He's nice." I snuggle up a little closer. "You think so too, don't you?"

"Sure. And not to mention good-looking," my friend says suggestively.

My imaginings earlier today come back full force. Mmm. "So... you think he's handsome too, do you?"

"I... What are you getting at?" He eyes me with both curiosity and a hint of worry.

"Heh, I was fantasizing about you two. You know, kissing, touching..." I sigh. I would just love to see such a thing.

Jowan makes a gagging noise. "Oh, no. No, no, no! I've never been with a man and I'm not planning on starting that now." He sounds thoroughly disgusted.

Aww... I make a popping noise with my mouth.

"What was that?" He looks around, puzzled.

I put on my biggest, fakest pout. "That was my bubble. Meanie."

"Right." He chuckles and plants a kiss atop my head. "Goodnight, you little pervert."

"Yes, goodnight." Sniffle. "Meanie."


	3. In Orzammar

_And yet again I just sail through the actual plot of Dragon Age: Origins._

* * *

Here we are, the gates to Orzammar. I do wonder what we will find. On the way we kept running into a dwarven merchant who would only say that the city was closed off. More information he refused to give. We were attacked yet again by a bunch of mercenaries, as soon as we set foot in the Frostback Mountains. They said Loghain sent his regards. I wonder why he keeps trying. Surely he must've become hip to the fact that his hirelings never report any success. The man must really be hoping we will slip up at some point. As if that will ever happen. Keep them coming, I say; my purse is jingling with all the coins their sellable wares fetch us.

The area is bustling with merchants, both human and dwarven. The guard at the gate is quarrelling with a few humans who probably wish to gain entry. Oh, so Loghain is king now? Great. And this whiny fellow is his messenger. His _appointed_ messenger, even. How fancy.

"So, what's going on here?"

The guard turns to us, obviously happy for the break. "Our king is dead," he answers my question. "The Assembly has gone through a dozen votes without agreeing on a successor. If it is not settled soon, we risk a civil war."

So there is something going on here as well. Big surprise. It's like a bloody tale from a children's book. I hand the guard the appropriate treaty. "The Grey Wardens need their dwarven allies."

"The Grey Wardens killed King Cailan and nearly doomed Ferelden!" the messenger steams as soon as he hears who we are. "They're sworn enemies of King Loghain!"

The dwarf looks at the treaty. "Well, that is the royal seal. That means only the Assembly is authorized to address it." He hands me back the paper. "Grey Warden, you may pass."

That was easy. But the messenger doesn't agree, naturally. "You're letting in a traitor? In the name of King Loghain I demand that you execute this... stain on the honour of Ferelden!" he declares haughtily.

"Stain on the honour of Ferelden? Me?" The idea makes me laugh. "Are _you_ the poster boy of proper Fereldan honour now, ser Fancypants, _appointed messenger_ of King Loghain? Run back to your master, like the good dog that you are."

The man's face turns an attractive shade of red. "How dare you..."

"Leave." A yet of flame shoots from my hands, no doubt making his left ear uncomfortably hot. "Or leave like a smouldering pile of bones. Your choice." My by now well-used middle fingers get into that ancient insulting position.

The messenger's eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline and he quickly turns on his heel to march away.

"Come on guys, let's go in." I lead the way.

"Such conduct is highly unbecoming for a young lady, Astoreth," Wynne says with a stern look of disapproval as we take our first steps into Orzammar.

I shrug. "Yes, well, I'm a Grey Warden, dear Wynne. Not a lady. So _fuck_ proper conduct." I will act as unbecomingly as I bloody want to.

The old lady shakes her head and sighs, wisely electing to keep quiet. It's about time she began to learn not to harass me with that etiquette bullshit.

* * *

To keep a long story short: King Endrin Aeducan has bitten the big one and there are two contenders for his throne. The Assembly gets to vote who they want as their king, as opposed to the human way of a royal family. We got our faces rubbed into the severity of the situation as soon as we entered the Orzammar Commons and witnessed two dwarves quarrelling about the throne, and then a fight breaking out where one man killed another by nearly chopping him in two. One of the candidates is prince Bhelen, the king's youngest son. I heard some nasty stories about him; it is said that he murdered his oldest brother and let the middle child take the blame for it. Although it may not be so simple, there's no smoke without fire.

The other candidate is a Lord Harrowmont, who claims that the king didn't want Bhelen on his throne. I guess I can see why. So, apparently our order (all two of us) is supposed to help the Assembly make up their damned minds. Honestly I wish they had done so before we got here.

It is good to see that for once Jowan isn't latched onto my arm, but looking around in awe, listening breathlessly to Leliana's stories about great dwarven halls carved from stone. I love how warm this place is; must be all the lava. With me being such a clumsy fool, I'll just keep a safe distance.

Off my left I hear a sad whine. Would you look at that? Stubbs is panting ferociously, obviously not used to the heat. Poor boy. I get my waterskin from my pack. "Would you like a drink, boy?"

His ears immediately prick up and he barks. Quickly I take off the top. "Tilt back your head and open wide." Smart hound immediately does as I say and allows me to pour water down his mouth. "There. Better?" He barks his typical confirmation and licks my hand in gratitude. Yuck, dog drool. Thankfully his panting has become more normal. Onto matters at hand.

"So, who do you think we should support: Bhelen or Harrowmont?" I ask my fellow Warden.

Alistair makes a thoughtful noise. "I don't know... The guy who killed his brother, or the King's closest and most trusted advisor?"

"Oh, very funny." I stick out my tongue. "I'm more in favour of Harrowmont as well. So I guess we should find him and see what we need to do."

* * *

Oh boy. We sure had our work cut out for us. At first we needed to gain the man's trust, so we had to fight a few Provings in his name and honour. Suffice it to say that we came, we saw, we kicked some serious ass.

Wiping out the crime organization in Dust Town proved a tad more difficult. It's such a desolate place, filled with casteless dwarves. Apparently they are the lowest of the lowest, worth even less than those funny-looking naked rabbits here, nugs. There was some clandestine prostitute, who charged a ridiculously low price for her services. Even if we all wanted to bang her at once, it would've been cheaper than a mug of ale. Imagine how desperate this woman must be. Casteless even have their faces tattooed as babies so everyone can see their station in life. Ugh, I wouldn't be able to live like that. Leliana says she wants a nug as a pet. There was this guy in the Commons who would pay me if I'd catch some and bring them to him. These aren't suitable as pets, I think. My hands are littered with nug bites. And that shit _stings_.

But I'm digressing again. The crime lord, or rather crime lady, was called Jarvia. We had to plough through a whole bunch of her henchmen to get to her. Even if I'd wanted to spare the woman, it was impossible. Crazy woman wanted to kill us all, except for "the pretty one" because she apparently had plans for her. Not quite sure who she meant by that. After a particularly nasty fight (that earned me a few more nicks in my robes and some fresh wounds) we were victorious. Naturally, or I wouldn't have been alive to say this. This is Astoreth speaking from beyond the grave, wooo... Anyway, Harrowmont took the credit and this greatly increased his support. Yay for him.

Of course our tasks weren't over with that. Now we are to find some Paragon lady who vanished into the Deep Roads about two years ago, to have her vote for Harrowmont. That would override the vote of the entire Assembly. But the _Deep Roads_, for crying out loud. How would anyone be able to survive there? For two years even! It's full of darkspawn, giant spiders and Maker knows what else. Joy of joys. First though, I'd better go and hand in those nugs. They might not be in mint condition anymore by the time we're done in the Deep Roads.


	4. Nugs and the Deep Roads

"Here are the nugs you wanted." I hand the nug-wrangler his prize. I think I got about six of the critters.

"Ah, thank you." He gives them a satisfied look and hands me some coins. "Here is the money I promised you."

I wave my hand. "Keep it, I've got more than enough." And that's after I bought a round for all in Tapster's Tavern. "Do you know where I could get a nug that is suitable as a pet? My friend would like one." It's going to be a surprise for Leliana. The others are waiting by the entrance to the Deep Roads, leaving me to do my thing.

The nug-wrangler makes a thoughtful sound. "I know of a dwarf in Dust Town who knows where to catch nice, healthy nugs. Try him."

"Great, thanks. What's his name?" Oh, Leliana's going to be so pleased!

He shrugs. "I don't know, really. We all refer to him as 'the idle dwarf' because he only seems to be sitting around."

"What? The beggars aren't very active either, so how am I supposed to know which one this idle dwarf is?"

The wrangler sighs. "Just look for the duster who's always half asleep and doesn't beg for money. And when in doubt, you can always press tab to highlight any names and points of interest."

Tab? Highlight names? Huh? "Say what now? You lost me."

"Oh no! This happens every time." He smacks his forehead. "Forget what I just said. It's the one who doesn't bother you when you walk by. Or ask Nadezda, the woman knows everything."

I slowly back away. "Great, thanks." This guy probably doesn't have his head screwed on right. Nutter.

* * *

"Yeah, I can get you a nug," the dwarf lazily picking his nose says. "What's in it for me?"

On the way to Dust Town a plan hatched in my mind. "I'd actually like two. Two sovereigns for the both of them. How's that sound?"

"Two sovereigns? I can get you nice big ones for that. I will be back later." And so he slings a duffel bag over his shoulder to get me a pair of adorable nugs.

See, my plan was to get one for Cullen. I know, I know, he's not my lover anymore, but I figured caring for a pet might distract him from what happened to him. The torture those demons and blood mages put him through could seriously damage him, drive the man completely insane. I probably need to ask Greagoir for permission, but I've learned to be very persuasive over the course of our travels. After all, he wouldn't want one of his templars to start beheading mages left and right, now would he? Of course he wouldn't.

"Here you are." The so-called idle dwarf hands me a duffel bag. Whoa, that was quick. I drop two gold coins in his extended hand. "You're very generous. Thank you." He gets back to his old place, looking as bored as ever.

"Thanks for the nugs. Goodbye." Oh, just look at them, so plump and adorable and sweet. A cross between a rabbit and a pig. All they need is a nice satin ribbon around their necks and they'll be just perfect. Leliana is going to love hers.

* * *

As I walk up to the others, waiting with the men who guard the entrance to the Deep Roads, a powerful-looking (and smelling too, phew) dwarf with hair as red as summer strawberries approaches me. I noticed him before in the Diamond Quarter, Orzammar's rich neighbourhood. He was quarrelling with another dwarf. Apparently the Paragon was married to this stinky fellow. Took her entire house with her, except for him. The stench must've done it.

"Stranger!" he yells, his voice drunken. "Have you seen a Grey Warden hereabouts? I heard..."

"Yes, yes, that's me," I cut him off. "Something you need?"

The dwarf chuckles. I'm sure he meant nothing by it, but it sounded very lewd somehow. "Name's Oghren," he introduces himself. "If you've ever heard of me before, it's probably all been about how I piss ale and kill little boys who look at me wrong." Oghren laughs to himself.

Okay... Mental note: do not let this one near little boys. "Great. What exactly do you want?"

"If you're looking for Branka, I know what she was looking for and how she was looking. You," here his vivid green eyes give my entire length a good sweep, "presumably know everything Harrowmont's scouts have discovered about where she disappeared. If we don't pool our knowledge, good sodding luck finding her."

Maker's breath, the smell is going to kill me! What is that, fetid ale and week-old sweat or something? _Disgusting_. But we do need all the help we can get. The sooner we find this woman and secure aid from the dwarves, the better. "You're on, welcome aboard."

As everyone introduces themselves, I notice their voices sound choked and they are holding their noses. This is going to be one fragrant trip. Even the nugs smell it, squirming madly in their temporary living quarters. Poor little darlings.

* * *

Huh. So, these are the Deep Roads, where I will be going thirty years or so from now to fight darkspawn until they overwhelm me. It's dark here, only sparsely illuminated by torches on the walls. My darkspawn senses are tingling like mad. We've been walking around for hours, guided by Oghren. First to Aeducan Thaig, just because we could. Earned us some nice loot; Shale has bags of discarded, but still useful weapons and armour slung over its shoulders and arms. Ah, where would I be without the golem?

This thaig was crawling with creepy, long-necked beasts that were out to get us. Deepstalkers. We were swarmed by so many of them I actually stuffed a corpse down my pack when nobody was looking; we don't have any meat and I read somewhere that dwarves eat them too. So why shouldn't we, right? What you don't know...

After we'd passed Caridin's Cross (where we were attacked by some of Bhelen's hired thugs; bloody idiots) Oghren recognized the way to Ortan Thaig. Apparently nobody's been there for centuries. Branka was looking for something called the Anvil of the Void, an invention of a Caridin. This Paragon developed an anvil on which golems could be forged and so brought on a hundred years of peace for Orzammar. It was lost eventually and Branka wanted it back.

Oghren's been eyeing my stomach curiously for a while now. "So, got a bun in the oven huh?" He pats it appraisingly. "Looks pretty far along."

"Yes? How long do you reckon?" Because frankly, I don't have a bloody clue. All I know is that it's pretty damned inconvenient.

Oghren scoffs. "How am I supposed to know that, Warden? I know sod all about children."

"Judging by your size, dear, I think that baby has been growing for six or seven months," Wynne interjects sagely.

How time flies. "Only a little while longer until I give birth, then." I wince. "It's going to hurt, isn't it?"

The old lady nods, her expression grave. "It will probably be the worst pain you've ever felt."

"You say that as if you've been through it yourself." Imagine that, Wynne having a child. I didn't know she was married. Then again, neither am I and that doesn't stop my baby from coming into the world.

A sad smile appears on the woman's face. "Yes. I imagine my son would have grown up to be someone like Alistair." She looks at him affectionately. Those two have been so close, like mother and son almost. He even got her to mend his shirts for him.

"Oh?" The Warden turns in her direction. "I thought you said you were never married."

Wynne chuckles briefly. "That's true. I never have been."

The cogs in Alistair's head appear to be clicking industriously as he is visibly pondering how on earth the woman could've had a child then.

"You don't need to be in wedlock for that." I know all about it. Dumb girl. "Anyway, can we take a rest when we find a suitable spot? I don't know about you guys, but my legs are about to fall off anytime now."

My proposal is met with general support, along with the suggestion we might as well set up for the night. It's hard to tell what time of day it is with all this rock above our heads, but we've been walking around for hours and everybody is pretty much tuckered out.

I firmly clap Jowan on the shoulder. "Guess what, buddy?"

"I don't know, what?" He eyes me expectantly.

"You're helping me with dinner tonight!" I'm sure that wasn't the kind of surprise he was hoping for.

His face immediately takes on a sour expression. "Do I have to?"

"Yes. Yes, you have to."


	5. A Lovely Dinner

"You must be joking!" Jowan screams when I pull the dead deepstalker from my pack. "Is _this_ dinner?"

The others are a good distance away from us, since I convinced them I was preparing a special surprise meal. Special isn't necessarily a good thing. "Will you be quiet?" I hand him a knife. "Just cut it up into unrecognizable pieces. We need meat and I didn't have any jerky or anything." Our trusty cauldron is already on the fire, waiting for its contents.

"Fine." He sighs and starts with separating the neck from the body. Sure, leave me with the guts, why won't you? "And if anyone wants to know what it is?"

I eviscerate the unfortunate dead animal, cut off skin and limbs. "Do what you do well: lie about it." There, nice portions of meat. Could be any kind, really. I dump the discarded bits into a shallow dent in the ground, covering them with a large rock. Nobody must know.

"No need to get all catty. Is something wrong?" The long neck is also stripped of skin and chopped into rough chunks. No need to take out the bone; it adds flavour.

Sigh. "No, not really. Sorry. I'm just cranky because I'm uncomfortable."

"Hmm." Jowan dumps his chunks of meat into the pot; they begin sizzling immediately. A nice smell emanates from inside the cauldron. Unceremoniously he wipes his hands on his robes. "Is there anything I can do?" he whispers into my ear, pressing his chest firmly against my back, wrapping his arms around my waist. My belly is so large and round his hands can barely meet.

"No, I don't think so." All other ingredients go into the pot with the meat, and I'm trying very hard not to get distracted from stirring into the stew as his lips touch that sensitive spot on my neck. I was doing a fine job until his hand slipped into my robes to gently massage my breast. "Ow!" My nipple is quite tender; squeezing it wasn't a good idea.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to hurt you. I'll just..." His fingers abandon my sore spots to continue their gentle kneading, his other hand disappearing behind the slit in my robe. I begin moaning when his fingers slowly rub all kinds of sensitive places right through the fabric of my panties. Come to think of it, I haven't had an orgasm in a while. Usually we just crawl into our bedroll, have some sex and almost immediately fall asleep. Focus, woman! Stop stirring and the stew will burn. "I haven't really pleased you in such a long time," my friend mutters, his voice low with desire. "No wonder you're like this. I've not been taking care of you as I should."

"As you should?" I manage to bite back a particularly loud moan. "Jowse, we're not married or anything. You don't have any such obligations towards me."

He kisses me lightly just below my right ear. "I know. But I still owe you."

"Nonsense, you don't..." That incredibly strange feeling suddenly alerts me. "Look busy, Alistair is coming."

Jowan detaches himself from me with great haste. "Here, let me stir that."

Soon Alistair is with us, but he is not alone: a certain elf is dragging him along. "Is _this_ what you dragged me here for?" the former asks Zevran in exasperation. "To see the two of them making dinner? I'm shocked out of my wits."

"I... But I saw them!" the assassin twitters. "Both his hands were down her robes, I saw it. You owe me three sovereigns!"

The Warden shakes his head. "You could be making that up for all I know. I'll believe my own eyes." He sniffs, nostrils flaring. "Ooh, that smells nice! What's in it?"

"Chicken!" Jowan answers without flinching. "Will you tell the others it's almost time for dinner?"

Alistair nods and trots away to deliver the message. Zevran stays behind, glaring at me angrily.

"Zevran Arainai, were you spying on us?" I click my tongue in mock annoyance. "Taking bets on us, even? How dare you."

The handsome elf narrows his eyes. "Oh, you are good, Warden." He wags his finger at me. "But I will get you one day, I promise you that!"

"Why do you care about three lousy sovereigns?" The other mage rolls his eyes. "If you need any money, just ask Astoreth for it."

"It is not about the money, my lucky friend," Zevran replies. "It is simply about the joy of being right."

A matter of principle, is it? "Good luck with that." I wink. "You'd best open your entire bag of tricks to catch _me_ in the act."

"_Us_, you mean." Jowan grins and blows me a kiss. Aww.

Zevran looks at us both in turn and growls, rather enticingly I might add. "Oh, it is _on_ now!"

* * *

As we make our way through Ortan Thaig I can barely keep my eyes open. It is all Jowan's fault. He insisted he should please me. Which he certainly did: using fingers and tongue he made me come about ten times in a row. And then I lost count. Maker's breath. Not even once did he put his cock in me, devoted to what he apparently thinks is his job.

It gives me somewhat of an uneasy feeling. The constant compliments (telling me how sweet, beautiful and perfect he thinks I am) make me fear his feelings towards me encompass more than only friendship and lust, flattering though they may be. The worst thing is that I might feel the same. Life is complicated; I was rather stupid to think that he and I sharing a bed would change nothing. Still, if he's not going to say anything, neither am I.

"Long night, Warden?" Zevran asks mischievously.

I yawn, opening my mouth wide. "The darkspawn keep me awake. Annoying buggers."

"Of course, _darkspawn_." The elf scoffs and pulls his pretty face into a nasty scowl. Well, _someone_ got out of bed on the wrong side today. He angrily kicks his feet and grumbles Antivan phrases under his breath. Something tells me those aren't compliments.

A little while ago we ran into an old campsite of Branka's, as recognized by Oghren, now inhabited by an insane dwarf. In order to survive here, this Ruck had been eating darkspawn meat. It taints you and the darkspawn then leave you alone. Apparently he got lost after an expedition into the Deep Roads years ago.

This place is crazy: enormous spiders, darkspawn in all kinds of flavours, spirits even. Dwarves don't believe in the Maker (though one of them is trying to set up a Chantry in the Commons) and can't go to the Fade naturally. Not that they can't go at all, they just need some help getting there. Don't ask me how, I must've missed that class.

I think I see something. A whole bunch of stuff, on and around a table.

"That must be Branka's," Oghren says hopefully. Despite his rather crude ways, I get the strong feeling that he still loves the woman very much. At least he speaks of his former wife quite affectionately. Maybe he has a more tender side somewhere. It gives me hope to know that burly warriors are capable of such emotion.

A loud skittering noise tells me we won't be able to search the items for clues undisturbed and yes, here they are. More giant spiders. Lovely.


	6. Broodmother

_So uh yeah, here is where it gets a little crazy. An onset of crazy, if you will. _

* * *

Andraste's mercy, these Deep Roads are vast. According to the journal we found in Ortan Thaig, Branka and her house went to the Dead Trenches. Upon seeing his name mentioned, Oghren even had to secretly blink away a tear. So secretly I'm not even sure if I saw it right. I'm beginning to like that smelly little rascal. Also, there were some interesting sketches in Branka's journal. One of them looked like some pillar that apparently vibrates. I wonder what it's for? The sketch said nothing about dimensions; maybe it's some kind of massive tool to grind stone into powder, or what have you. Still, I will ask her about it if we find her. When we find her, I mean. Have to stay positive.

The Dead Trenches are apparently where the darkspawn population thrives; in other places they have to battle for dominance with other species, like the spiders. If it weren't for the darkspawn, this place wouldn't make for bad living. Well, maybe if someone would come around to do some repairs. But still, it's got bridges, buildings, the lot.

A bunch of heavily armoured dwarves is fighting a bunch of darkspawn. Time to join the fray.

* * *

I guess fighting the darkspawn isn't only a Grey Warden thing. The Legion of the Dead is also dedicated to killing them and keeping them here. Maybe we should help them if there isn't a Blight; I mean, we wouldn't have much to do if there were hardly any darkspawn on the surface. The way it is now though, we're plenty occupied. Heh, the Kardol fellow who leads them wouldn't even believe me when I told him about the Blight. Then I pointed into the chasm and he saw the ginormous army of darkspawn. No doubt they are marching for the surface. We surely have our work cut out for us. And the archdemon came along too, flying over our heads with a menacing roar. Dragons. Boo.

Oh yuck, what is _this_? Not only infestations of darkspawn, among which ogres, but also disgusting fleshy sacks hanging from the walls. Reminds me of the tower; the same gory crap was everywhere. "No Jowan, don't poke into those things." Who knows what it will do to his staff? Wow, that sounded dirty. The only way I could've made that worse is if I'd called it a magic wand.

He gives me a rueful look and ceases his poking. "Okay. I was just curious."

"_First day, they come and catch everyone_," a female voice suddenly drones.

Stubbs barks and begins looking around nervously. I do the same (minus the barking), scratching my mabari between the ears to calm him, but see nobody. "Where's that coming from?"

A little farther ahead, the same voice. "_Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat._" Eerie. If we continue on, we will surely run into the speaker.

"_Third day, the men are all gnawed on again._" We seem to be coming closer.

"I don't suppose you happen to be a ventriloquist, Leliana?" Alistair asks hopefully. It would seem I am not the only one thoroughly creeped out by these rhymes. The bard shakes her head, an uncomfortable expression on her pretty face.

A shudder comes over me when I hear the next phrase. "_Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate._" What is this about? It gives me such an uneasy feeling. As if we're about to run into something terrible. Not that I had expected anything else.

"_Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn._" Turn for what? The amount of flesh on the walls also seems to be increasing. I've got stuff stuck to my boots I don't even want to think about. Ieh.

"_Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams._" Oghren hums thoughtfully. "That's pretty unnerving, to say the least," he says dryly. Sten nods his agreement, quiet as always.

The woman's voice has become louder. "_Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew._" Morrigan's face takes on a disgusted expression. "Oh, how _vile_!" She shudders furiously.

And louder still, the farther we go. "_Eighth day, we hated as she is violated._" Yep, anytime now. Anytime we will come upon something abominable.

"_Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin._" Cannibalism now too? And here is the kicker: "_Now she does feast, as she's become the beast._" Maker.

Finally we enter a small room, littered with the dead. In the middle stands a dwarven woman, clad in a tattered dress. "First day, they come and catch everyone," she mutters. So _this_ is the one who's been sending chills down our spines.

"Hey, lady?" I tap her on the shoulder, she turns around quickly. The woman is pale, and tainted with darkspawn corruption. At least, that's what I think those black spots on her skin are.

"What is this?" She looks at me, head cocked sideways. "A human? Bland and unlikely."

Oghren stands beside me to stare at her. "I know this one. Hespith." From the bitter sound of his voice, I can tell he isn't very fond of her.

"Hespith, what're those rhymes about?" Those creepy, creepy rhymes.

The dwarven woman cringes. "It's what I've seen, what I will become. All I could do was wish Laryn went first. I wished it upon her so that I would be spared," she babbles frantically. "But I had to watch. I had to see the change. How do you endure that? How did Branka endure?"

"Endure what? What change?" And most importantly: "Where _is_ Branka?"

"D-do not speak of Branka, of what she did." Her voice quivers with fear. "I was her captain, and I didn't stop her. Her lover, and I could not turn her. Forgive her... but no, she cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did. Not for what she has become."

So that's why Oghren dislikes her: she wooed Branka away from him. Even before I can open my mouth, he asks urgently: "Where is Branka, woman? What in the sodding Stone did she do?"

"_I will not speak of her, of what she did_!" she screams with sudden vehemence. "I will not become what I have seen, not Laryn, not Branka!" And so Hespith runs away, leaving behind a confused and unnerved group of adventurers. We have no choice to but to go on and follow her.

* * *

Zevran runs a hand through his hair, undoing one of his usually so meticulously fastened braids. "I do not like where this is going." He smiles nervously when I tuck the loose strands behind his ear.

"None of us do, painted elf," Shale grumbles. It has the funny habit of addressing people by a description, rather than their name.

"Yes, well, who wants to live forever, right?" I gesture ahead. "Let's just move on."

* * *

Soon we came across a door that led to a formation of natural hallways. With every step we took, the presence of darkspawn became stronger. Hespith's voice was always just ahead, regaling us with tales of unspeakable terror: "_She became obsessed, that is the word but it is not strong enough. Blessed Stone, there was nothing left in her but the Anvil. We tried to escape, but they found us. They took us all, turned us. The men, they kill... they're merciful. The women they want, to touch, to mold, to change until you are filled with them. They took Laryn . They made her eat the others, our friends. She tore off her husband's face and drank his blood._"

Her words made me feel cold, like icy fingers caressing my spine. Not just because of the words themselves, but because of the meaning behind them. Those poor women at Ostagar. "_And while she ate, she grew. She swelled and turned grey and she smelled like them. They remade her in their image. Then she made more of them. Broodmother..._"

A large cave, and there in the middle, the horror I had been expecting all along. Although it is not exactly what I had expected. It's worse. Some... creature, all wobbly, greasy flesh; tiny, four-fingered hands attached to large, flabby arms; a red beak; not one, not two, but five pairs of sagging breasts; tentacles everywhere. It is surrounded by those vile growths. Ugh. My stomach is churning, but somehow I manage not to lose my dinner. All around me the others utter cries of revulsion and disgust. Jowan takes it a step further and promptly vomits. Onto _my_ boots. I guess that will have to wait until after we've killed this thing.


	7. Branka, I Presume?

_And here it gets even nuttier! I'm not going to apologize for it; if you've come this far, you should know what I'm all about._

* * *

Well, that was difficult. One would think a creature that is apparently rooted to the spot would be easier to kill, but those tentacles reach very far. And then there were those darkspawn that kept popping up all the time. Ah well, at least it's over now. Some cuts, some bruises, Alistair nearly died again (I swear, he's so lucky we have Wynne with us), but now we're surrounded by bloody darkspawn corpses and one very dead broodmother. That's what Hespith called it anyway. I wonder if there are any broodfathers? How would they... I better stop this chain of thought before I start blowing chunks of deepstalker all over the place.

In any case, after all this crap we certainly need a rest. We deserve it. The only way to continue was straight ahead, and so we made our way to a different part of the Deep Roads. Not even Oghren with his fabled Stone sense had any idea where exactly we would end up, but no doubt Branka had travelled the same route.

So now Wynne is carefully bandaging the wound I sustained from the blow of a hurlock's spiked mace. It actually broke my upper arm, which I didn't notice until afterwards because I was pumped with adrenaline. The pain nearly knocked me out, but our healer did a great job. The fracture is healed and all that remains is a dull throbbing sensation. It's not completely fixed, but I can use it at least.

The others are sitting around half passed out from fatigue. Leliana is languidly playing with the nug I got her. The girl squealed in joy when I gave it to her, hugging it tightly. She called it Schmooples. Personally I think Schmoopie wouldn't been cuter. The one for Cullen is staying with me. Its name is Nugget. Appropriate, no? At first I was afraid Stubbs would try to eat it, but so far he's only sniffed it and given it a big lick across the face. I think he likes it.

Jowan is furiously scrubbing his vomit off my boots, strands of hair constantly falling in his eyes. A haircut would do him some good, or something to tie that mess back. It's getting very long. Pretty though; I like running my fingers through it while we make love. But not tonight; I need some sleep.

"Here, all clean." He hands me the footwear after a careful inspection. "How is your arm?"

I pull on my boots. "Better. Thanks, Wynne." The old lady smiles kindly in response and walks away to tend to the others, leaving my dear friend and I alone. "Maker's breath, I'm knackered."

"So none for me before we go to sleep?" The other mage pouts. How cute.

I yawn and stretch. "Look, if you don't move me about too much, you can just go about your business. Don't expect me to be very active though."

"Never mind then. Your being so active is more than half the fun." Jowan scoots closer to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "Come here, I will be your personal pillow." And so we lie down, me with my face buried in his chest. Mmm, comfy. I feel like I could sleep for days.

* * *

Another fine pickle we're in. Finally we find Branka, turns out the woman is as mad as a hatter. Poor Oghren was so happy to see her too. She seemed reasonable enough, until she started babbling about how she had sacrificed her entire house to find the Anvil of the Void. The room we found her in trapped us as soon as we got there, littered with potentially fatal traps. So we had to fight darkspawn band after darkspawn band, while the woman ranted on about how her comrades wouldn't help her although they had pledged themselves to her. Clearly she's gone soft in the head, beyond obsessed. Which reminds me: where did Hespith run off to? Poor thing. It doesn't really matter though; she will probably meet her end soon. Let's hope it will be a merciful end.

There is still the matter as to who will be the new king of Orzammar. Obviously Branka doesn't care. If I get her the Anvil, she'll make me the Paragon crown so I can put it on the head of whomever I think should be the one. While the others were fighting busily, I snuck over to Branka and made inquiries to her rather interesting design. She went off on another tirade, this time about how she couldn't make the bloody thing work; it was supposed to be a design for a tool to efficiently grind lyrium into lyrium dust for trade with the Circle. The woman even showed me a few more sketches she had on her person. The shape of the thing rather reminded me of something. I whispered an idea into her ear and the Paragon's eyes startled sparkling like you wouldn't believe.

The notion was obviously so amusing to her that she immediately went to work on the final design. Her rants have ceased, the only sounds the clang of metal against metal. I am very curious to see what she will come up with. It would seem that Branka is as brilliant as Oghren keeps on saying.

* * *

So, after riddles involving spirits, golems and whatnot, we've walked into a very, very hot room. It is vast, and littered with lyrium veins. But wait, there's more. Stone golems are neatly standing in two files, a metal one in their midst. How very interesting. It begins speaking as I ready myself to tap it, hoping to hear an interesting noise.

"My name is Caridin," it booms. "Once, longer ago than I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar."

Shale comes forward. Lately it's been thinking of where it came from and no doubt the thought of the golems here has piqued it curiosity. "Caridin? The Paragon Smith? Alive?"

"Ah, there is a voice I recognize," Caridin speaks fondly. "Greetings, Shayle of the House of Cadash."

Shale tilts its head. "You... know my name? Is it you that forged me, then? Is it you that gave me my name?"

"Have you forgotten then?" The metal golem sighs deeply. "It's been so long. I made you into the golem you are now, Shayle, but before that you were a dwarf as I was. The finest warrior to serve King Valtor, and the only woman to volunteer."

My golem companion's voice sounds incredulous as it, no she, says: "The only... woman? A dwarf?"

My mouth must be hanging open rather unflatteringly. This tall, broad stone creature was a woman? _Really_? So it, _she_ used to be one of the squishy creatures she despises so. I'm not sure whether to pity her or to just laugh in her face. Better not the latter though. I don't want to experience the same fate as that chicken in Honnleath.

Caridin goes on to explain his craft of golem making, and how it required living souls to animate them. First only volunteers, of which there were plenty, but then his king wanted more and more. Naturally the whole thing escalated and finally the smith himself was put on his Anvil.

"So what exactly is it you want, Caridin?" I ask him. "Not revenge, is it?"

He shakes his metal head. "No. The blow of the hammer opened my eyes. I retained my mind, for my apprentices did not know enough to fashion a control rod. You were amongst the most loyal, Shayle." If he were able to smile, I'm sure he would. "You remained at my side throughout, and in the end I sent you away out of mercy."

"I... do not remember," she replies hesitantly.

"I have sought a way to destroy the Anvil, but alas, I cannot do it myself," Caridin continues. "No golem can touch it."

"_No_!" Branka screams as she comes rushing in all of a sudden. Enter the lunatic. "The Anvil is mine! No one will take it from me!"

"You!" The Paragon smith turns to me. "Help me destroy the Anvil, please! Do not let it enslave more souls than it already has!"

After his story, I wouldn't let Branka take that Anvil anyway. "Fine, I'll do it. I hope you'll support a new king though."

"Don't listen to him!" the mad woman screams. "For a thousand years he's been stewing in his own madness. Help me claim the Anvil and you will have an army like you've never seen!"

Oghren must have decided he's kept his mouth shut long enough. "Branka, you mad, bleeding nug-tail! Does this thing mean so much to you that you can't even see what you've lost to get it?"

"Look around," Branka scoffs. "Is this what our empire should look like? A crumbling tunnel filled with darkspawn spume? The Anvil will let us take back our glory!"

"At the cost of enslaving living souls? _Fuck no_!" I join the shouting match. "We have to destroy the thing!"

Shale carefully lays a stone hand on my shoulder. "So it fights with Caridin? Good. That seems right."

"Thank you, stranger." The smith sighs in relief. "Your compassion shames me."

Branka is almost foaming at the mouth. "No! _You will not take it while I still live_!"

"Don't throw your life away for this, Branka!" Oghren implores. "Just give her the blasted thing!" he commands me. "She's confused. Maybe once she calms down, we can talk to her!"

"I'm sorry, Oghren." I shake my head. "Look at her, and you will see that she is beyond redemption."

Suddenly the insane Paragon has an object in her hands. An object I've seen before, an object not unlike the one I threw away because it was broken and useless. I bet this one isn't as useless. Oh crap. "Golems, obey me! Attack!" she screams in fury, pulling two blades from behind her back.

Four of the golems that were previously standing at attention take on a menacing posture and turn in our direction, murderous deliberation in their motions. Lovely.

"A control rod!" Caridin yells out in shock as he is paralysed. "But... my friend, you must help me! I cannot stop her alone!"

I already have my staff at the ready, handed Jowan my dagger. Because I have a feeling this will be an emergency. Did that full-metal boob think I expected to walk out of here without a fight? And how would he stop her in the first place if he cannot even move? I don't mind, really. After all, it's not been a fruitful day if I've not shed any of my blood.


	8. The Lady is a Golem

_The response to _AdF _has been nothing short of shitty lately, but to those who still read it: I'm not so childish that I'll hold this hostage until I get "at least ten more reviews waaaaaaaah!". As long as I enjoy writing this, it will be updated. And if I get sick of it, I will wrap it up with a wonderfully tragic ending. Or some idiotic deus ex machina thing, heheh. _

* * *

"Another life lost because of my invention," Caridin sighs as Branka lies dead at our feet. "I wish no mention of it had made it into history."

I wipe the blood that trickles out of a shallow cut in my forehead from my eyes. "It certainly would've made things easier, yes." Maker's breath, what a battle. The four golems were smashed into bits easily enough, but the crazy Paragon was one tough cookie. I thought I was seeing quintuple when she split herself into five Brankas, but apparently the other four were illusions. How did she _do_ that? Thank Andraste it's over.

"Stupid woman," Oghren grumbles. "Always knew the Anvil would kill her." No doubt he grieves her death. No doubt he partially blames me for it, seeing how I wouldn't give her what she wanted.

"How is it the woman was not able to disable me as she did you, Caridin?" Shale asks curiously.

He shrugs. "I do not know. Have you been altered?"

"My pathetic little mage master, he... did something to me. Experimented on me," she says with somewhat of a shudder. "And then I killed him and it rendered me paralyzed." That sounded a lot more cheerful. Creepy. I'll just leave those two alone. They must have some catching up to do.

Eventually the Paragon comes to address me. "I thank you for standing with me, stranger. Is there any boon I can grant you for your aid? A final favour before I am freed of my burden?"

"Oghren?" I rest my hand on his shoulder. "This crap cost you Branka. Is there anything you want?"

For a moment he stares at me blankly. "Huh. Don't suppose you can bring Branka back? Make her a golem, like you?" he asks Caridin.

"I would not do such a thing to her even if I could," the Paragon answers apologetically.

"Somehow I don't think so," the dwarf sighs. "Then I don't want anything to remind me of... this. Best it's just done." Poor thing sounds openly sad now.

I simply cannot resist; my arms wrap around his neck to draw the dwarf into a tight hug. First he's as stiff as a board. Until he chuckles lasciviously and I feel his hands on me. "_Oghren_! You just lost your wife and already you're grabbing my ass?" I take a large step back.

"You're the one pushing your chest hams in my face, Warden." The red-haired horror shamelessly looks me up and down, grinning like a fool. It's not my fault my breasts are level with his face. Cheeky little sod. But at least he doesn't seem as sad anymore.

"I'll not be doing that again." Ignoring Oghren's protests, I tell Caridin: "We do need your vote for the new king."

He nods. "For the aid you've given me, I shall put hammer to steel one last time and give you a crown for the king of your choice."

I watch in awe as the Paragon forges the crown, sparks flying everywhere, the clang of metal upon metal echoing through the cavern. That is so awesome. The red-hot final product is cooled in a vat of cold water and handed to me. "There. Give it to whom you will. I do not wish to hear anything of them. I have already lived far beyond my time. I have no place here."

"Then I'll keep my end of the bargain and destroy the Anvil."

"That would please me, human." Caridin hands me his hammer. The thing's really bloody heavy. With trembling arms I raise it above my head and bring it down upon the blue-veined Anvil of the Void. The effect is spectacular: the blasted thing explodes, sending me flying backwards. A hard landing on my rump follows. As if I wasn't bruised enough already.

Graciously the Paragon smith helps me up before walking to the edge that leads to a pit of lava. "You have my eternal thanks, stranger. _Atrast nal tunsha_... May you always find your way in the dark." And with that he drops himself off the ledge, into the lava. I blink away a tear as I see his form slowly sinking away. May you finally find peace.

"Shayle of House Cadash," Shale muses as we make our way back to Orzammar. "Is that who I once was? I find this difficult to believe."

"Why? Do you think your name is a coincidence?" The Paragon sounded so sure of himself. But of course Shale thinks of herself as an invincible, superior being and not a "squishy" little dwarf. And I kind of think she is too. I mean, all this time she's been carrying around bags and bags of stuff without losing any. And we've been in _battle_. Shale is so incredibly strong. Selling all that stuff will bring us a fortune! Not that we actually need any more; my pouch is so heavy I can barely walk straight.

The golem shrugs. "If I _was_ this Shayle of House Cadash as Caridin said, there must be some evidence of my existence remaining. I must find it."

"Could there be records in Orzammar?" Apparently her name wasn't on the golem memorial in Caridin's chamber. I'm all for people, or golems, knowing where they came from.

"There is another way," she says almost cheerfully. "What Caridin said has allowed me to remember where Cadash Thaig is. I think."

I bring out the old trusty map. "Mark it and we'll go there."

"Its offer is appreciated." Shale marks a spot that is close to our route. "I am most curious as to what we will find."

* * *

Shale looks around, seemingly nervous. "This is it. Cadash Thaig."

"I hope we'll find something. It seems abandoned." But I know it's not, because I feel the darkspawn are close by. This place looks nice though. It's surprisingly lush with green plants growing between every nook and cranny of the ruined buildings. And those sparkly crystals, not unlike the ones Shale is wearing, awaken strong feelings of avarice in me. They would look great dangling from a silver chain around my neck. Ah well. At least I got one pleasant surprise out of all this.

When I moved Branka's body into a more dignified position because I feel quite guilty about poor Oghren losing her, I came across an object in a velvet pouch. Thankfully nobody was paying attention when I took it out, because the object was a very lifelike presentation of a penis, made from smooth metal. Accompanying it was a scribbled note.

_ Yes, yes! This is my greatest invention yet! Turning the crank at the bottom will charge it, _

_ pressing the button will turn the vibration function on or off. I call this the "vibrating rod of _

_ immense pleasure"! Hmm, I suppose the name needs some work. Too bad I didn't think of _

_ this before; Hespith would have loved it. Perhaps I can think of some kind of pelvic harness to _

_ put it in, so women can be men for a change. This will please the Warden, I'm sure of it. _

_ Maybe she will even let me demonstrate it on her. _

Although that last part was a bit unnerving, I truly can't wait to try it out. I've been trying very hard not to think of it, because simply the thought of what I could do with it is uncomfortably arousing. Oghren's right, Branka was a genius indeed. But I suppose I should snap out of it for now and kill the darkspawn lurking around here.

One would think that engaging the same enemy over and over again would become boring after a while, but it really doesn't. You just have to find new and creative ways to get the deed done every time. Sometimes I don't even have to join; our mighty warriors can easily take care of them. But at least those pesky darkspawn are now all dead.

Shale walks purposefully to a ginormous statue of a dwarf holding an equally ginormous hammer above its head. "What is this?" she mutters. "This... this I remember! It has dates and names." A stone finger traces the etchings in the statue. "This is to honour those who volunteered, those who became golems." Her finger halts at a single name. "Here. Shayle of House Cadash, just as Caridin said. I remember now. I remember Shayle. That... was me."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" I don't think she sounds very happy about it, even if she's been so curious to find out more about her past. "So you're female, huh? I suppose that explains your fondness of pretty gems."

"I did not think it needed to be said." The golem sighs in exasperation. "It has never told me what gender it is, has it?"

I thought it was perfectly clear what sex I was part of. "Well no, I didn't think it was necessary either. It doesn't really matter anyway."

"Agreed." She nods. "Whatever gender I was is irrelevant now. I am a genderless golem. It will not become an issue?"

"No, of course not. As long as we don't start fighting over the same men." I chuckle at my own joke.

Another one of those derisive snorting sounds that the golem seems to utter so often at whatever it is I say. "Oh, ho, ho," she drawls sarcastically. "I can tell this is going to be a whole pile of laughs. Oh yes, comedy goldmine." Shale pounds her massive fists against each other. "Now, let us crush something soft and watch it fountain blood. That is a girlish thing to want to do, yes?"

I scramble to take my distance. "Suuuure it is..."

* * *

_Yes. It's a vibrator. Modern times in Ferelden. But, you shall see, as much as it is a sex-device, it's also... Well, actually it's just a sex toy. Screw it, I love them. If Branka hadn't invented that smoke-free furnace, _this _would have surely made her a Paragon.  
_


	9. Harrowmont VS Bhelen

The lords and ladies of the Assembly are nearly ready to go at each other's throats as Oghren and I enter. Not even the Steward can get Bhelen and Harrowmont to cease their shouting match.

"What news do you bring?" Harrowmont immediately asks nervously as our arrival is announced.

"I bear a crown from the Paragon Caridin, forged on the Anvil of the Void." I do like these big pompous speeches. Especially when the onlookers utter a collective gasp the way they just did.

Oghren steps forward. "Caridin was trapped in the body of a golem. This Warden granted him the mercy he sought, releasing him and destroying the Anvil of the Void," he says, gesturing with both hands. "Before he died, Caridin forged a crown for Orzammar's next king, chosen by the ancestors themselves!" For a smelly drunkard, he does have a way with words.

"And are we supposed to trust this, the word of a drunken sot and a Grey Warden known to be in Harrowmont's pocket?" Bhelen objects loudly.

"Silence!" the Steward booms. He comes closer to inspect the crown I have in my hands. "This crown is of Paragon make and bears House Ortan's ancient seal. Tell us, Warden: whom did Caridin choose?"

"To be perfectly honest, he didn't. He wished me to give it to whomever I chose."

Of course the prince does not agree. "The Grey Warden knows nothing about us! Why would a Paragon entrust someone like this with such a weighty decision? This is ridiculous!" I'm about to say that his _mother_ is ridiculous, but think better of it. If I did that, no doubt it would come back to bite me in the backside someday.

The Steward rubs his eyes. "We've argued in these chambers for too long. The will of the Paragon is that the Grey Warden decide."

Harrowmont, I choose you! Heh. "Then I would grant the crown to Harrowmont."

"I appreciate your forthrightness, Warden," the man says as he makes his way down the steps. "You have acted with grace throughout this entire torturous process." And so he bends his knee to have the Paragon crown put on his head. Lord Harrowmont is now King Harrowmont.

"I will not abide by this!" Bhelen screams. Somehow I didn't think he would slink home with his tail between his legs. And again I'm proven right when he and his supporters draw their weapons. Which those little sneaks weren't even allowed to have here in the first place. Within seconds the Chambers of the Assembly are a true battlefield. In the ensuing chaos my other companions, who were no doubt waiting outside the doors anxiously, rush in to join the festivities.

* * *

"I admit, I did not think even Bhelen would defy the word of a Paragon," King Harrowmont speaks when it is all over and the dead bodies are being dragged out, among which that of the prince. "Or that so many would follow him. But I trust we will bring this insurgency under control."

I'm just anxious to get out of here, to be perfectly honest. Just get to the treaties and how you will honour them already.

The new king seems to pick up on my thoughts. "We will begin preparations for a surface mission immediately. Orzammar will fulfil its treaties."

"Thank you, King Harrowmont." Alistair bows gracefully. "Perhaps your rule will mark a new era for Orzammar." Things like this make me think that he would make a fine king. With a little help, maybe.

Harrowmont straightens the crown atop his head. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get to the palace and set my plans in motion. I wish you luck against the Blight, Warden. May we foster another four centuries of peace." With a last grave nod, the man leaves for his palace.

* * *

Just outside a crier is already screaming about what happened in the Assembly. "News of the hour!" the dwarf bellows. "Lord Bhelen attacks the Assembly and is ignominiously slain! _EPIC FAIL_!"

Ha-ha! That right there makes me want to roll on the floor laughing my ass off.

* * *

_Actual in-game line. Epic win! Thanks for reading. As for the next part: you know the drill.  
_


End file.
